"Ah, gentlemen, what can I do for you?" asked the inventor, as he rose to greet the officials.
"Ahem, Mr. Swift. Ahem—er—that is—well, the fact is, Mr. Swift," stammered the chief, "we have come upon a very painful errand."
"What's that?" cried Tom's father. "I haven't been robbed again, have I?"
"There has been a robbery committed," spoke the constable quickly.
"But you are not the victim," interposed the chief.
"I'm glad of that," said Mr. Swift.
"Where is your son, Tom?" asked the head of the Shopton police force, sharply.
"What do you want with him?" inquired the inventor, struck by some strange tone in the other's voice.
"Mr. Swift," went on the chief, solemnly, "I said we came upon a very painful errand. It is painful, as I have known Tom since he was a little lad. But I must do my duty, no matter how painful it is. I have a warrant for the arrest of your son, Thomas Swift, and I have come to serve it. I need not tell you that it is your duty to give him up to us—the representatives of the law. I call upon you to produce your son."
Mr. Swift staggered to his feet.
